C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Blackmwore Maidens

By William Barnes (1801–1886)

THE PRIMRWOSE in the sheäde do blow,

The cowslip in the zun,

The thyme upon the down do grow,

The clote where streams do run;

An’ where do pretty maidens grow

An’ blow, but where the tow’r

Do rise among the bricken tuns,

In Blackmwore by the Stour?

If you could zee their comely gaït,

An’ pretty feäces’ smiles,

A-trippèn on so light o’ waïght,

An’ steppèn off the stiles;

A-gwaïn to church, as bells do swing

An’ ring ’ithin the tow’r,

You’d own the pretty maïdens’ pleäce

Is Blackmwore by the Stour?

If you vrom Wimborne took your road,

To Stower or Paladore,

An’ all the farmers’ housen show’d

Their daughters at the door;

You’d cry to bachelors at hwome—

“Here, come: ’ithin an hour

You’ll vind ten maïdens to your mind,

In Blackmwore by the Stour.”

An’ if you look’d ’ithin their door,

To zee em in their pleäce,

A-doèn housework up avore

Their smilèn mother’s feäce;

You’d cry,—“Why, if a man would wive

An’ thrive, ’ithout a dow’r,

Then let en look en out a wife

In Blackmwore by the Stour.”

As I upon my road did pass

A school-house back in May,

There out upon the beäten grass

Wer maïdens at their play;

An’ as the pretty souls did tweil

An’ smile, I cried, “The flow’r

O’ beauty, then, is still in bud

In Blackmwore by the Stour.”

- GENERAL INDEX - SONGS & LYRICS - QUICK INDEX - BIOGRAPHIES - READER’S DIGEST - STUDENT’S COURSE - PORTRAITS - BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD